The air in Zurich smelled of snow and secrets.
Tiny flakes drifted past the glow of streetlamps, melting on the windshields of sleek black cars that lined the driveway of the Grand Aurelian Hotel. The night was glass and gold — the kind that belonged to people who wore confidence like a second skin.
Krit Chansiri stood at the edge of it all, suitcase handle biting into his palm. He exhaled slowly, watching his breath bloom white in the icy air. Back home in Bangkok, nights smelled of rain on asphalt, grilled street food, and motorcycle smoke. Here, everything was cold perfection — the kind of silence that made his heartbeat feel too loud.
He glanced up at the hotel — chandeliers glowing through tall windows, strings of laughter spilling onto the steps. Tonight was the International Business Excellence Gala, a world away from his small workshop in Thailand where the ceiling fans whirred louder than his dreams.
He had come to Zurich chasing a sliver of hope — an investor, a partnership, something. His company, Chansiri Techworks, was barely surviving. If this trip failed, he wasn't sure he could go back and face his wife's hopeful eyes.
Inside, the ballroom gleamed with gold and crystal. The hum of voices blended into a language he couldn't quite follow — English, German, French — all too fast, too polished. A string quartet played something elegant and distant.
He smiled politely at strangers who didn't look back. His name tag read:
Krit Chansiri — Founder, Chansiri Techworks (Thailand)
He walked toward the balcony, drawn by the cool night air. Outside, Zurich shimmered like a jewelry box — the lake frozen silver beneath the stars, tram lights sliding quietly through cobblestone streets.
He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing in the scent of snow and champagne.
Then a voice — smooth, low, and confident — broke the stillness behind him.
> "Beautiful, isn't it? The city looks carved out of glass."
Krit turned.
The man standing there looked like he belonged to a rarer kind of world — Anurak Vatanakul, host of the night, CEO of Vatanakul Enterprises, and the youngest billionaire in Switzerland's business circle. His name was whispered in boardrooms and broadcast on magazine covers. Rumor said he'd turned a failing trading company into an empire before his thirtieth birthday — and that he'd done it with a ruthlessness as refined as his charm.
Tall and sharply built, Anurak carried himself with quiet precision. His tuxedo fit him like it had been tailored to his thoughts. There was something unreadable in his eyes — the calm of someone who had learned early that emotion was leverage, not weakness.
> "It's different from anywhere I've been," Krit replied, his voice soft but sure.
"Back home, the lights never look this cold."
Anurak smiled faintly, stepping closer. The scent of his cologne — crisp, expensive, dangerous — mingled with the snow.
> "Cold keeps everything clear," he said. "No noise, no chaos. Just focus."
Krit let out a quiet laugh. "In Bangkok, we call that boring."
Anurak's brow lifted, amused. "You're not from here."
> "Thailand," Krit said. "Small company. We design solar panels for rural areas. Nothing that wins awards."
Anurak studied him for a moment, like a man appraising a rare but fragile piece of art.
> "And yet, here you are."
> "Here I am," Krit echoed, glancing back at the ballroom lights. "Trying not to look like someone who can't afford the champagne."
Anurak chuckled softly. "You'd be surprised how many here can't."
For a moment, they stood side by side — strangers framed by the glow of the city. Snowflakes clung to Krit's hair; Anurak's reflection shimmered faintly in the glass railing.
> "You seem like someone who doesn't give up easily," Anurak said quietly.
Krit smiled. "Maybe that's why I'm broke."
"Or maybe," Anurak said, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "you just haven't met the right kind of luck."
The announcer's voice rang from inside:
> Tonight, we honor Mr. Anurak Vatanakul with the Global Visionary Leadership Award, recognizing his outstanding contributions to international enterprise and sustainable innovation."
Anurak exhaled softly, a flicker of composure tightening his jaw. He straightened his tie, the faintest smile curving his lips — the kind worn by men who knew how to command a room without raising their voice.
The announcer's voice rang from inside:
> "Mr. Anurak Vatanakul, please join us on stage."
Anurak turned, sighing. "Duty calls."
> Krit nodded. "Go. The world is waiting for its hero."
"And you?" Anurak asked.
Krit's voice softened.
> "The world isn't waiting for me. But my family back home still believes I can change ours."
Something flickered in Anurak's eyes — a trace of envy, maybe admiration.
> "What's your name again?"
"Krit."
"Maybe we'll meet again, Krit."
Krit smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Then, after a pause —
> "But some dreams aren't meant to be rescued."
Anurak hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but the applause from the ballroom swallowed his words. He turned and walked back inside.
Krit stayed on the balcony, watching the snow fall into the black water below — each flake disappearing before it touched the surface.
He didn't know it yet, but that was the last night his dreams — and Anurak's — would ever look the same.